


Drunkjolras

by angelsbrokemyship



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Courfeyrac Is A Little Shit, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Ficlet, Fluff, Grantaire being Grantaire, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oblivious Grantaire, everyone ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsbrokemyship/pseuds/angelsbrokemyship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bout of politically fueled rage, Enjolras goes to the cafe to try Grantaire's method of liquid therapy. In the midst of all the rage, Enjolras forgets just how much of a lightweight he is and ends up confessing his own feelings towards his curly headed friend. Skeptical Grantaire is skeptical and other Amis de l'ABC shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunkjolras

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mementomoriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mementomoriarty/gifts).



> Hella unedited, but I might have exploded if I didn't get it on the internet like right now.

The room erupted with laughter at the loud hiccup that exploded out of Grantaire’s throat. His hiccups were loud as it was but when he was drunk, there was almost nothing he could do to stifle them. He laughed along with the rest of the guys, just to hide his embarrassment. When they began singing, very loud and off key, his laugh turned into genuine I-can’t-even-begin-to-catch-my-breath laughter. 

Suddenly, the chorus of drunkards was interrupted by a loud bang, making everyone inside the cafe jump. At the door was a tall blond man with an expression that Grantaire knew too well, especially since it was often directed at him. Grantaire straightened, trying to appear sober and steeling himself for his usual lecture. He used his heel to scoot his discarded, empty bottles under his chair, as if that would be enough for Enjolras not to notice them. There was something else in Enjolras’ expression that said that he wasn’t really here to get angry specifically for something that Grantaire did; Grantaire was looking at Enjolras’ I’m incredibly angry about something and you are the easiest person for me to get angry with. Grantaire decided that something must have gone wrong with the protests. Usually when Enjolras gets angry with Grantaire, it’s much later in the night after many more bottles of wine have tried and failed (well, sometimes) to get the best of him. 

Enjolras stormed up to the table, eyes dangerously focused on his curly headed friend. Grantaire was frantically thinking up excuses for being here during the time it took for Enjolras to actually get to his table. When he got there, he snatched the half-full bottle of wine off the table and looked at his friend expectantly. Grantaire cleared his throat but was only able to say, “Look, I know I said I would cut back b-” before Enjolras did something that would have been surprising to every citizen of France. 

Barely breaking eye contact, Enjolras tipped the bottle up and polished off what was left of Grantaire’s wine.

“Merde,” Grantaire mumbled. “I take it you had a bad day?”

Enjolras whistled to really anyone who was around to bring them another round. “You have no idea,” his voice was a low growl. He slammed his forehead down on the table, not even bothering to reach his arms around to soften the blow. He kept his head there until he was presented with more alcohol. Taking another long swig, trying to keep his voice down as he said, “Grantaire, I’m pretty sure I owe you some money. Then again you owe me every coin you have ever spent on wine, so I think at the end of the day we are even.” 

Grantaire tried not to grimace as Enjolras’ whisper turned out to just be dull shouting. “What are you talking about, Enj?”

“I am talking about the wonderful citizens of Paris, my dear friend. The lame flock of the King of France.” Grantaire shifted uncomfortably, much more aware of the increasing pairs of eyes whose focus was deviating from whatever they were doing and onto the table in the back, the only place where Grantaire felt comfortable. Well until this very moment. Enjolras didn’t even notice and so he continued, “These imbeciles are perfectly content sitting, no, suffering in squalor while France continues to bleed them of their hard earned coin. Why?” He shouted the last word, banging his fist on the table. The sound made nearly everyone jump, including Enjolras himself. At that, he took another long swig, ignoring Grantaire’s “Oh boy.” Grantaire watched in silence as the meniscus of the wine was slowly dropping past the halfway point. 

“Well, ‘doing something’ is usually in your job description, not theirs. On the other hand, I don’t think you’re going to be very productive when you decide it’s a good time to leave here,” he replied. As Enjolras barely gave himself enough time to catch his breath before going in for another sip, a loud hiccup interrupting his attempt, Grantaire decided it was time for him to say something. He gently touched Enjolras’ shoulder. “Enj, you should really slow down. You have like the lowest alcohol tolerance out of anyone I know.”

Enjolras scoffed, but went ahead to finish off the bottle anyway. He raised his arm to order a third round. Grantaire waved away the hand of the woman who was trying to set down another bottle in front of his seat. She looked at him in surprise, but complied with his silent wishes. I wasn’t expecting to quit this soon either, lady, he thought to himself.

“Why, Grantaire?” his heart skipped at the sound of his name tumbling out of the tipsy Enjolras’ lips. “Why do I invest so much of my own time in a group of people who clearly don’t even give a shit about themselves?”

“Je ne sais pas,” Grantaire responded somberly.

Enjolras scoffed again. “Whatever,” he spat. “Besides, who are you to criticize my wine intake, monsieur.”

A blush creeped up the back of Grantaire’s neck. Curse his drunken bilingualism. Enjolras was the first of his friends to notice how much more likely Grantaire was to speak French after a certain amount of wine. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound that Grantaire had never heard before. His eyes flickered up to see Enjolras covering a stupid smile and making some kind of weird noise. Wait. Is that…?

“Um, Enjolras?” he said. “Are you giggling?” 

With that Enjolras burst into outright laughter. “Maaaybe,” he responded.

Wow. That was fast. Grantaire forgot just how much of a lightweight Enjolras was. 

To his surprise, he could see the slightest shade of pink on Enjolras’ cheeks. “You’re cute when you blush,” he said suddenly.

Grantaire’s blush deepened by both Enjolras’ words and by the round of whistles and catcalling that came from the group of friends at the other side of the cafe. Of course they could hear because Enjolras still. wasn’t. whispering. He coughed back his embarrassment and stood up, saying, “Okay, I think it’s time for you to go lay down.”

He grabbed Enjolras by the arm ignoring the rest of the catcalling that followed them as they walked up the stairs to the room where the owners would sometimes let him sleep if his drunken antics got to be too much. Enjolras giggled the whole way and pawed at Grantaire’s chest for whatever reason. Probably to keep his balance, Grantaire decided; Enjolras was looking like he might not have made it up the stairs if it hadn’t been for Grantaire. 

He tried to lower his friend gently to the bed, but Enjolras just kind of rolled off of Grantaire’s shoulder, hitting the bed with a loud thump. Grantaire grimaced, but he knew that Enjolras had gone floppy drunk enough that it most likely didn’t hurt him. In fact that amount of giggling resonating from the drunken lump on the bed was enough to reassure Grantaire completely that the dumb ass was still intact. 

“Okay, I will help you if you need it,” Grantaire blushed just thinking about his next choice of words. “But I would really prefer it if you got undressed yourself.”

Enjolras rolled around until he was laying flat on his back with a cute, no not cute, stupid grin on his face. “And why would you need to undress me Grantaire?” he asked drawing out the last syllable of his name in an embarrassingly sing-songy six syllables. 

Grantaire’s blush spread across his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Maybe he was a bit drunker than he had originally thought, he doesn’t blush this damn much when he’s sober that’s for damn sure. Even at Enjolras’ expense. Before his pause would be considered suspicious, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Because you really don’t need to be going out in public like this. The sun isn’t even down for God’s sakes.”

“So?” Enjolras sat up, looking a little frustrated. Like he wanted to say more but the sudden acceleration of the Earth’s spin made his brain get all jumbled. 

“So, it’s time for bed,” Grantaire responded, kicking himself for sounding like a stern mother. 

He could only laugh though when Enjolras, in response, crossed his arms and pouted, sticking out his lower lip in the process making himself look like an angry four year old. 

“Stop laughing at me,” Enjolras said trying to sound authoritative, but only making himself seem even more childish. 

Grantaire sighed and made his way to the bed, ignoring how similar this situation was to many of the day and night dreams that he has had while sitting here in this very room. Not in a gross way, though. 

Okay maybe a little in a gross way. 

He pushed those thoughts back below the surface so that he could approach Enjolras and begin undoing the clasps of his stupidly ostentatious red jacket that Grantaire definitely did not at all think was attractive in any way… at all. He scoffed as Enjolras tried to swat Grantaire’s hands away, but didn’t stop until Enjolras flopped down, nearly taking Grantaire with him. 

 

“Okay!” he groaned with a pout that Grantaire couldn’t help but think was absolutely adorable. “I will do it myself.” 

Enjolras then straightened himself back up (no pun intended) and began fumbling with those damned evasive buttons. In the same amount of time that it took Grantaire to get the jacked halfway unbuttoned, Enjolras managed to unhook a whopping two buttons, each time followed by a ridiculously triumphant look on the drunken blonde’s face. 

Grantaire rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but smile at the scene unravelling (quite literally) before him. Hopefully before sunrise, they could work together to get Enjolras down to his trousers. 

Down to the last button (still on this stupid, red jacket mind you) Grantaire, with a roll of his eyes, hooked his finger through Enjolras’ who was becoming more and more sluggish with each button. 

At this point, Enjolras was so loopy that he was beginning to make “come hither” eyes at Grantaire, which was becoming more and more difficult for Grantaire to chivalrously ignore. “Come on, let’s get you settled in,” Grantaire said tucking Enjolras in like a child.

When he turned to leave, to his surprise, cold fingers reached up and wrapped themselves around Grantaire’s forearm. He turned back to look at Enjolras whose eyes were full of an emotion that Grantaire had only seen in fleeting glimpses, just before Enjolras remembered that he was in view of all of his friends. For whatever reason, he looked afraid.

“Grantaire,” he began. Much to Grantaire’s confusion, he could see the beginnings of tears beginning to form in the corners of his friends eyes. “Pl-Please don’t leave me. I can’t stand going to bed alone. And, well- since you’re up here already,” he paused, glancing up at Grantaire from beneath his long, blonde lashes. “Why don’t you just stay?”

For a moment Grantaire was speechless. Where the hell is this coming from? It has to be the booze, Grantaire thought. Despite his better judgement (Grantaire was a little more than halfway to wasted himself when Enjolras started getting all giggly) he twisted his wrist to wrap his own fingers around Enjolras’ chilly forearm. 

“Why are you so cold?” he asked, concerned.

With a tiny giggle, Enjolras rolled onto his side and responded, “I feel warm.”

Grantaire frowned. Enjolras was drunker than Grantaire had thought. Grantaire remembers countless nights when he passed out on this bed, waking up to find himself hungover and shivering underneath dozens of blankets that his friends had piled on top of him throughout the night. How weird, Grantaire thought. I thought it was just me who got that way when I drank too much. When his friends had mentioned it to him, Grantaire had just assumed that everyone had the same reaction, but not one of les amis said the same thing happened to any of them. 

Except, apparently, Enjolras. 

Enjolras stole a peek at Grantaire out of the corner of one of his closed eyes. His other eye was hidden, as it was burrowed deep into the recesses of the extra fluffy pillows that the owners only gave to their favorite patrons (or probably more accurately the patrons who spent the most money there; Speaking of which, I am pretty sure I owe Combferre some money…)

With a roll of his eyes, Enjolras said with an (almost annoyingly) exasperated sigh. “If you’re that concerned about it, why don’t you come down here and warm me up?”

With that, he tugged at the forearm that (as Grantaire was acutely aware of) Enjolras was still touching. Caught more or less by surprise, Grantaire stumbled down onto the bed next to Enjolras, stuck on his hands and knees in a crawling position. Immediately, his eyes went wide. His body shut down. He didn’t know what to do from here to be completely honest. This was what Grantaire had always wanted to happen with Enjolras (well, bits and pieces of the details) but little red flags had been popping up everywhere since the moment Enjolras had walked into the cafe. Grantaire felt like those flags were beginning to spill out of his ears and scatter all across the floor at this point. 

Grantaire was frozen in place, half standing, half crouching.

 

Enjolras giggled. “Isn’t this what you have always wanted? I’ve known for a long time, Grantaire. I don’t know if you have noticed, or if you have been too busy staring down the eyes of a bottle instead of mine. You know that the only reason I yell at you about your drinking is because I am worried about you. Of all the men in the Amis, losing you will be the thing that breaks my heart.”

Damn, even when he’s drunk he has a way with his words, Grantaire thought as his heart was lunging out of his chest towards Enjolras, who was still ejaculating words (Is that really the best word choice right now, Grantaire?). 

“...you know?” He knows when you’re tuning him out, I should probably listen now of all times. “Grantaire, do you have any idea how I feel about you?” Enjolras flipped Grantaire’s palm to face up so that his fingers could slip comfortably between Grantaire’s. “I love you as much as, if not more, than a blind man loves the light, Grantaire.”

Grantaire’s heart was reaching a dangerous rhythm. He was a pessimist after all, his heart (and his mental state) couldn’t handle much excitement. “I-I can’t do this,” he said at last, Enjolras stiffening in response. 

“What?” Enjolras said, reaching out for Grantaire just as he was pulling away.

But Grantaire’s reflexes were (somehow) much faster than Enjolras’ and before he knew it, he was across the room with his fingers wrapped around the cold doorknob. “I can’t do this Enjolras. I can’t do it to myself. I can’t do it to you.”

 

Enjolras cocked his head to the side. “Grantaire, what are you talking about?”

With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, he responded, “Enj- You’re drunk. You don’t really mean this. We are barely even friends,” Grantaire was beginning to feel the sting behind his eyes as the words tumbled haphazardly past his lips. “You would never have said any of this sober. Not to me anyway.” 

Grantaire swung the door open, sliding across to the outside before Enjolras could see the tears that had begun to stream steadily down his cheeks. He stood there for a moment, relying on the door to keep him vertical. He listened for any signs of movement from Enjolras, after a few minutes of hearing none, he assumed that sober Enjolras (no matter how deep down that was) had heard what Grantaire had said and agreed. 

The next day, Grantaire was considerably more dejected than usual. He sat at his usual table, but he turned his body slightly away from the rest of the amis. They knew what that meant. On many occasions, one of the amis had come up to him during one of these times and tried to talk to him only to have Grantaire explode either into a fit of rage or tears. He took a tiny sip of wine, something that Grantaire had just recently realized he did whenever he was in an exceptionally foul mood. For whatever reason, Grantaire drank considerably less than usual when things were bad. (I guess that makes me a masochist.) 

As suddenly as he did last night, Enjolras burst through the doors that led to the upstairs rooms. Dark circles outlined the bottoms of his already deep-set eyes, which accented the bright blue disks hiding underneath all that darkness. Grantaire had built up such a tolerance to alcohol that he couldn’t remember the last time he was that hungover. He usually just woke up and finished off whatever alcohol was still sitting by the bed (or table whatever) where he had passed out. 

Despite Enjolras’ obvious hangover, he stormed into the room like a man on a mission. He went to walk out the door until he saw that Grantaire was already at the cafe (to be honest, he never left, and he never really went to sleep either; he just pretended that he had passed out in the chair whenever the owners came by to tell him it was closing time, which unfortunately was not the first time that had happened). Upon seeing Grantaire with a drink already in hand, Enjolras’ face grew darker, which Grantaire didn’t think was possible until now. With powerful strides, Enjolras was at Grantaire’s side within a matter of seconds. 

Whenever Enjolras was within hearing distance, Grantaire began to speak. “Hey, Enj. Don’t worry, as I’m sure you don’t remember what happened last night, I made sure Courf didn’t violate you,” to which Grantaire heard Courf utter a word of protest from a few seats over. 

Enjolras didn’t respond. Not verbally anyway. 

 

In one concise, swift motion, Enjolras took his final step towards Grantaire, leaned forward, grabbed Grantaire by both sides of his face, pulled him forward, and brought their lips together in a stiff but sure kiss.

As the rest of the amis were seeing this, the entirety of the cafe grew silent. Grantaire’s wide eyes shifted back and forth seeing exact copies of his expression pasted on the faces of all of his friends. Grantaire’s heart was pounding, his eyes then fixed onto the pale eyelids attached to the man attached to his lips. 

The expressions of the people in the cafe began to change as their heads began to swivel back and forth, silently asking each other if this was really happening. When they all simultaneously came to the conclusion that yes, it really was happening, they all turned up the corners of their lips into smug (those assholes) toothy grins. 

Grantaire closed his eyes, giving into the kiss by repositioning himself into a standing position, sliding his hands up Enjolras’ chest and around the soft curve of his neck, pulling him close. At the same time, the rest of the patrons in the cafe started cheering and wolf whistling and cat calling (I said it once and I will say it again...those assholes). Even people who Grantaire had never seen before or had only seen a few times were grinning and clapping along with their friends. 

Finally, Enjolras pulled away, keeping his hands around Grantaire’s hips (Grantaire wasn’t really sure when they got there but he was NOT complaining). “I remember it all,” he said softly.

Grantaire’s face was bright red (at this point he wasn’t sure if it was due to embarrassment or because of the kiss) as he said, “I’m not entirely sure how to feel about that.” 

Enjolras smiled and kissed him again, this time it was just an affectionate little peck on the lips. He brushed his thumbs against Grantaire’s cheeks, giving Grantaire that look he always got when he didn’t have complete faith in his own argument. “Grantaire,” he began. Before he could even continue, Enjolras’ own cheeks grew warm, matching Grantaire’s. “I um- You- Well,” Each wrong word Enjolras said made him visibly more and more frustrated. “I mean I have already said it, but it’s just- It seems more difficult now,” he mumbled.

“Come on now, spit it out,” Grantaire said, floating on his own little castle on a cloud. 

“I love you, Grantaire. I am very much, very deeply in love with you.”

The members of the amis who heard Enjolras went slack jawed and backhanded the ones who were still clamboring about, repeating in hushed words what Enjolras had just said. Pretty soon, everyone was silent, tense with the anticipation of Grantaire’s reply. Everyone (and I mean literally everyone, not just the members of les amis) knew that Grantaire’s feelings were reciprocated, but everyone (again literally everyone) knew that Grantaire was also a self-depreciating pile of emotions who put everyone else before himself. They weren’t sure if he was willing to actually pursue something that he wanted more than anything in the world, mostly because, well, he had spent so many years with them all and he hadn’t yet. And it was painfully obvious even from the beginning, not that Grantaire had ever really tried to hide it. He hid his affections in snide comments and melodramatic compliments disguised under a cloak (an invisible one apparently) of sarcasm.

Grantaire’s eyes darted back and forth, switching focus between each of Enjolras’ eyes individually. Warmth spread across his entire body, tingling at his fingertips. He felt like he couldn’t breathe (unsure if it was in a good way or a bad one; a mixture of both perhaps?). Everyone inside the cafe appeared to be holding their breath, looking back and forth between the two of the most vocal members of their group.

Grantaire forced out a shallow breath, trying to pass it off as a laugh. “You’re still drunk aren’t you?”

Audible groans from each individual member of les amis could be heard (except from Courf who all but leapt on top of the nearest table and yelled at the top of his lungs, “OHH COME ON.”). Including Enjolras. 

“Grantaire, I’m not drunk. Hungover, yes. Very,” he said clutching at his head as if to demonstrate. “But everything I said was true. Every bit of it.”

Grantiare was left a bit speechless. He was hesitant to let the overwhelming happiness rise to the surface of his expression. A kiss was one thing, but this seemed… serious. After all this time of what seemed like false hope, he was terrified to turn it into something real. But he had to say something. His eyes darted back and forth between his friend’s encouraging faces and Enjolras’ expectant one.  


“I- I love you too.”


End file.
